


I've got the strangest feeling, this isn't our first time around

by moonmotels



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: F/F, exactly what it looks like, yes this is ummm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:22:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22137760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonmotels/pseuds/moonmotels
Summary: “So like a prostitute made specifically for me?”“Prostitution is illegal. They prefer the term call-girl.”the one where misty's a call girl and cordelia is lonely.
Relationships: Misty Day/Cordelia Foxx | Cordelia Goode
Comments: 18
Kudos: 165





	1. lost love is sweeter when it's finally found

**Author's Note:**

> this is pretty woman if it were gay and if I'd ever seen it, which I haven't

“What if I hired someone to have sex with you for your birthday?”

Cordelia gulps the sip of margarita she’d had in her mouth, wincing when the alcohol hits the back of her throat and burns all the way down. “What the fuck, Coco? Why would you do that?”

“Uh, maybe because you’re a fresh divorcée with no backbone to go out and get a rebound?”

“So your number one option is a prostitute? I swear to God, you’re the most ridiculous person I’ve ever met.”

“You won’t even consider it?”

“No.”

Coco scoffs into her vodka soda and flips her hair back. “Okay then. There’s always my cousin Robert.”

“Creepy cousin Robert who cornered me at your family reunion last July and asked me to sleep with him in his old twin bed upstairs? I’m going to take a hard pass on that one.”

“Cords,” she whines and Cordelia can practically hear her feet stomp, “I’m just trying to help you out. Your vagina is probably shriveled up by now.”

Cordelia sighs deeply and pinches the bridge of her nose, wants to get up and leave her best friend here alone. Instead, she signals for another double margarita.

“My vagina and I are doing fine, thank you very much.”

“When’s the last time you had sex?”

“When’s the last time _you_ had sex?” Cordelia shot back, a little too viciously.

“Yesterday, but nice try.” Coco waits patiently for her to answer the question, an eyebrow raised in suspense.

“It was with Hank, three days before the divorce papers were filed.” 

“Jesus Christ,” Coco groans loud enough for tables near by to peer suspiciously at her, “that’s even worse than I thought.”

“It’s just sex, Coco. I can live without it.”

“I don’t want you to, is my point.”

“I really appreciate your concern, Co, but I am fine.” 

“Just let me know when you’re drier than the Sahara and I’ll set you up with this company I used for Queenie’s bachelorette party.” 

Cordelia wrinkles her nose at the memory of an obnoxious guy ripping Queenie’s blouse off with just his teeth. She shivers out of disgust. “No thank you.”

“They have women too.”

Cordelia nearly chokes for the second time on her freshly made margarita. “I - what?”

“Women, yes, you know the people who make up fifty percent of the world population?”

“Shut up.”

“I’m just saying, maybe that’ll put a little pep in your step.”

“Are you going to eat the rest of your guacamole?”

Over the table of tapas, enchiladas, and salsa, Coco drones on about a run in with a single dad of two who had asked her out in the middle of the dairy aisle at the grocery store. Cordelia listens patiently, waiting for her to get to the important point of the story. There’s always some wild piece of information tied to all of her stories, a never ending supply of ruthless, juicy entertainment.

“So anyway, he asks me to come upstairs with him; so I obviously said yes, and his ex girlfriend was just there chilling on the fucking couch.”

“Was he mortified? Jesus, _I’m_ mortified.”

“No,” Coco exclaims, “he acted like that was normal. Like she’s there all the time eating his cereal and watching the Bachelor.”

“Did he kick her out?”

Coco looks sheepish. “No, but-”

“And you still slept with him, didn’t you?”

“Okay, don’t look at me like that, his room was all the way down the hall and he claims she was just finishing up her laundry.”

Cordelia shakes her head incredulously. “You amaze me.”

“It was good, Cords, like _mind blowing, leg shaking, I’m gonna think about you forever_ good.”

“Spare me, please.”

Coco licks the sugared rim of her fourth margarita and shrugs. “You wouldn’t know how that felt anyway.”

Cordelia, on her own fourth margarita, relaxes back in her chair with a grunt of effort. “If you were to -” she flutters her eyes shut, “set me up with someone from this company; and I’m not saying you _will_ , how would it work?”

Her best friend of ten years smiles wickedly at her visible discomfort, overly eager to make this possibility a reality. “It’s super chill, you just put in what you’re looking for; comfort, a bachelorette party, sex, whatever, and then they match someone with your criteria and send them over.”

“So like a prostitute made specifically for me?”

“Prostitution is illegal. They prefer the term call-girl.”

“Who said I wanted a girl?”

“That look in your eyes when I mentioned they had women available.”

“Anyway, it’ll never happen. I was just curious.”

“Give me your phone.”

“What? No.”

Coco reaches across the table for it, dodging the hand that goes to smack her away. “Give it to me or I’m going to make a scene.”

“You already are making a scene,” Cordelia hisses, “you’re not doing this.”

“Don’t be such a goddamn pussy for once in your life.”

Cordelia recoils back as though she’d been slapped, giving a Coco the opportunity to grab her phone and unlock it. 

“Fuck you, Co.”

Coco flicks her eyes up and snorts at Cordelia’s measly attempt to sound angry. “Without me you’d still be married to that pathetic excuse of a husband.”

That shuts Cordelia up, because, well, it’s true.

After a few moments of Coco prodding through her photos and creating a profile, she tosses Cordelia’s phone back and grins, self-satisfied. 

“All done.”

“What do you mean all done?” Cordelia eyes her warily.

“You’re going to meet someone tomorrow night at the Omni Royal hotel bar.”

“The Omni? Co, that place is like $600 a night.”

“I paid for it.”

“Paid for _what_ ,” Cordelia nearly cries.

“A nice companionship for the evening. You don’t even have to do anything, just show up and have some wine with a nice woman that’s gonna listen to you talk about Hank for two hours.”

“Why would I do that when you’re right here?”

“Because I’m tired of hearing you talk.”

At Cordelia’s tight lipped grimace, Coco relents. “I’m starting you slow. It’s literally just a date, no sex or weird shit. That’s extra. If it goes well, you can set up more meetings and spend more time with her.”

In retrospect, the ability to have an intimate conversation with someone paid to listen to you talk seems like a golden opportunity to Cordelia. It’s just the dynamics that are troubling. Isn’t it weird to pay someone to talk to you? Someone that also has sex with people for money?

The angel and devil on each shoulder squabble for a moment before Cordelia takes a deep breath and says, “What’s her name?”

“Misty.”

  
By 7pm the next day, Cordelia isn’t sure what’s worse: her anxiety or the way absolutely nothing in her closet fits right.

Coco’s voice comes through the speaker of her phone carelessly tossed on the bed.

“Wear that short black dress, the one you tried to wear in Miami and Hank wouldn’t let you.”

Cordelia rolls her eyes at the memory of the humongous fight they’d gotten in. “I can‘t, I ripped the hem trying to pull it on earlier. Not all things you wear in your twenties are meant to fit you fifteen years later.”

“What about that green floral jumpsuit, the one you wore that night Hank called you drunk screaming about how you’re a terrible wife?”

A pang of anger reverberates through Cordelia. Buried deep inside her soul is that untapped emotion that could ravage the ground she walks on. It’s scary and bold, but she suppresses it just enough to maintain an act of normalcy. 

“Yes, I remember vividly. That one’s at the dry cleaners, I spilled red wine on it.”

“Maybe you drink too much.”

“Maybe I need a new best friend.”

That doesn’t phase Coco as she retaliates, “You’d die without me.”

“At least if I’m dead you won’t annoy me anymore.”

“Bold to assume I won’t find you in whatever afterlife we make it to.”

“I suppose that sounds right,” Cordelia tosses her pair of high waisted trousers on the bed and flops atop them, ready to call the entire thing off. “This is weird, right? Paying someone to have a drink with you?”

“What’s weird is you overthinking every single thing. With the way your life is going, you’ll never speak to another human let alone date one. This is just you dipping your toe in the water.”

“What if it’s awkward?”

“What if you fall in love?”

“I’m not - no, I will not be falling in love.”

“Okay, Cords, whatever you say. Hey, put on those black pants you have and that black long sleeve bodysuit with the lace trim, it’ll look sexy.”

Cordelia spares a glance at that exact outfit she’d pulled from the depths of her closet and sighs. “I’ll consider it.”

  
Walking into the hotel and over to the bar, Cordelia feigns her usual confidence with a careful stride and head held high. On the inside, though, nerves are eating away at her little by little. It’s a miracle she makes it atop the bar stool without tripping. She orders a glass of red wine and waits, hands trembling and mind wandering.

What’s bothering her most is the fact that she’s allowed Coco to do this for her, to pay someone for companionship. It makes her feel pathetic, like she can’t go out and meet people the normal way, through mutual friends or sheer luck in public places. She knows she can do that, but since Hank and the messy last six months of her life, she hasn’t quite found the confidence in doing so.

Maybe Coco is right. Baby steps.

Five minutes past the hour go by, and Cordelia wonders if she’s actually been stood up when a flash of blonde hair peeks her peripheral.

“Cordelia? Gosh, sorry I’m late. Traffic around town is a bitch tonight.”

A woman - a _beautiful_ woman sits on the stool next to Cordelia, and she has to blink the haziness from her eyes. Misty is not what she expected. She’s tall and lanky, but sits with the confidence of someone who knows themselves; who knows what type of power they hold over other people. Her lips and face are void of heavy makeup, just hints of peach and baby pink blush. Her eyes are focused in on the curves of Cordelia’s face, mapping it as if committing it to memory. The voice, though, is what throws Cordelia off the most. It’s gritty and low, the kind of voice you want murmuring in your ear at two am and whispering a sleepy _good morning_ at eight.

“Yes, hi, that’s me.”

She unravels her scarf to reveal a mop of messy blonde curls that Cordelia unironically wants to run her fingers through. Cordelia also doesn’t miss the way her biceps flex under her peasant blouse.

The pit in her stomach dissipates, just a little. Misty seems down to earth, gentle, easy. In the thirty seconds it takes for her to order a bourbon, neat, Cordelia thinks she might be okay with this. It certainly helps that she’s otherworldly beautiful, the kind that makes your insides clench and light stars behind your eyes.

The kind of beautiful that’s very, very hard to forget. 

“So I like to get to know my clients beyond what their profile says, is that okay?”

“Yes, Misty, of course. Ask away,” Cordelia says, “but you should know that my best friend set this up for me, I have no idea what she wrote on my profile.”

“So you’re not into hardcore BDSM and degradation?”

Cordelia nearly spits up her wine. “God, no, did she really-”

“I’m kidding, Cordelia.” Misty’s lips twitch into a sinfully beautiful grin, and the thickness of the atmosphere evaporates just enough.

“I’m so sorry, I’m just - terribly nervous.”

“Hey there,” Misty places a careful palm on her upper thigh; knows exactly what the touch does, “don’t be. This is just introductory. Drinks, conversation, maybe dinner and then we part ways. Sound good?”

“Yes, absolutely.”

“So what do you do for a living?”

“I’m a headmistress for an all girl’s school at an academy right outside of town.”

“That’s sexy,” Misty smirks, “do you like to be called Miss Cordelia in bed?” Her abrasiveness and carefree attitude is doing wonders for Cordelia, despite being unused to such titillating subjects.

Cordelia fumbles over her words, trying and failing at sounding unruffled. “Well my ex-husband, he, we- never really did that sort of thing in bed…”

“I’m joking again, babe,” Misty tosses her head back and laughs beautifully, a chorus of angels. “I’m sorry, but that was worth the look on your face.”

Cordelia releases the tension in her shoulders, finds herself laughing too. Being in Misty’s presence has a deep calming effect, like a slow moving drug that fills you with immeasurable happiness. She thinks Misty is that kind of woman that’ll haunt her for the rest of time. “You’re very good at that.” Calmer now, she breezily asks, “Is this your full time job?”

Misty raises an eyebrow at this, probably not used to clients wanting to know anything about her. “Only during nights. By day I run a plant and succulent nursery out by the swamps.”

That surprises Cordelia, filling her with admiration and something sickeningly sweet. “That’s - Misty that’s awesome. Have you always enjoyed that type of stuff?”

“Oh, yeah, I love all of it. Gardening, planting, watching my efforts come to fruition.”

Cordelia sips her wine and lets the alcohol speak for her, washing away any disconcertment she’d had. “You should be very proud of yourself, that’s an awesome hobby.” Misty is so easy to be around that it’s nearly dizzying. She commands the attention of everyone in the general vicinity; the overeager bartender, the men on the other side of the bar, Cordelia herself. It’s maddening, her looks and charm. Cordelia feels almost smug that she’s sitting here, with her.

“Can I ask what you hope to get out of tonight?”

Cordelia opens her mouth, wants to say _I’ll take anything you’ll give me with a smile_ , but instead says, “I’m not really sure. My best friend, Coco, thinks I’m destined to be alone forever after my divorce. She says I have a hard time meeting new people.”

Misty hums. “Do you?”

“I don’t - I mean, maybe. It’s not that I have a hard time meeting people, it’s just that I don’t have the guts to go out and do it.”

“You’re a very beautiful woman, Cordelia. I find it hard to believe men aren’t falling all over you.”

“You’re very kind, but, no, I haven’t been on a date since my ex-husband.” Her brow furrows in self-hate, angry she’s put so much effort into not discussing Hank when clearly that’s been blown to shit. She tells herself it’s the alcohol. It’s certainly not Misty’s alluring blue eyes that are staring at her so reverently and silently asking for all the secrets stored inside Cordelia’s heart. 

Cordelia believes maybe she’d allow that to happen.

“Do you think you’re unwilling to go out and meet new people because you’re afraid of getting hurt again?”

They must have gotten their wires crossed, Cordelia thinks. There’s no way Misty does what she does for a living, because Cordelia finds herself nodding incoherently, wanting to tell Misty everything about what she’s been feeling for the last six months. Every terrible thought that wakes her late at night in a cold sweat, the self-hatred that sabotages every interaction she has with potential dates. There’s just something about Misty. She’s like an old soul, the kind that Cordelia has known for dozens of lifetimes, always coming back to each other like magnets. It’s terribly scary, but she finds herself unable to care, not when Misty’s eyes are back on her face with that stupidly perfect crooked smile.

“I think I’m unwilling to do a lot of things because I’m afraid of getting hurt.”

“So why did you agree to this? To meet a perfect stranger?”

“In all honesty, I’m trying to feel normal again. Like myself.”

“That’s admirable.”

“It’s something.”

Conversation flows easily from there, and Cordelia keeps trying to convince herself it’s the wine and not Misty.

On her second glass, she feels bold enough to ask, “What are your other clients like?”

Misty pauses for a moment, gathers her thoughts before answering. “Well,” she sips her drink, “they vary. Some are old, some young. There’s women mixed in. Sometimes it’s men who are too busy with work to date, sometimes it’s someone looking for a fling, but often times it’s just lonely men and -”

“Lonely women,” Cordelia finishes for her. She’s tried to forget the real reason they’re here, because Misty feels like a lover from a past life and not someone hired to be her companion for two hours.

“Yes,” Misty looks pained for a split second, “but you’re different.”

Cordelia wants so badly to ask what that means, but their goddamn bartender is back, asking, “Another round? This one’s on the house ladies.” His lecherous gaze at Misty sends shivers crawling up the back of Cordelia’s spine, and she finds herself crassly accepting the offer. If she’s going to sit here and share Misty’s presence with the rest of the hotel, she may as well be drunk. She wishes so terribly to have Misty alone, just the two of them in one room where no one else has the pleasure of laying their eyes upon such an angel.

The two hour mark has come and gone, and Cordelia wonders if this is normal for Misty. If it’s normal that she’s had more than two drinks with a near stranger and a conversation based upon unspoken truths she’s yet to reveal to anyone else. For everything that Cordelia reveals from tight lips, Misty gives her own truths; that’s she’s been alone since a teen, that this job is physically draining, that she wants to settle down with a wife and two fluffy animals within the next five years.

It’s a lot for a paid first date.

Their third round is whisked away and a fourth is placed immediately back down. Misty takes a large sip and briefly shuts her eyes at the taste coating her tongue. She looks so effortlessly good like this, pink lips closed around the rim of the glass, her long ringed fingers curled around the condensation, body angled towards Cordelia. If she weren’t someone hired to spend time with her, Cordelia might have the nerve to ask her to be friends. Just friends.

Apparently, Misty has another definition of the word.

“Cordelia, would you like to go upstairs with me?”

Rationally, she should have expected this. Should have known from the innocent touches and simple signs of arousal that Misty has been giving off, but yet, she is still caught off guard just a touch.

“I didn’t um,“ she stammers, “my friend didn’t pay you for that part of the -“

“Cordelia,” she says again, and her voice is _so_ , “this is me asking you, not the other way around.”

For as sensual of a being that Misty is, she keeps the elevator ride and long walk down the hallway to the room PG-13. Keeping her arm linked in Cordelia‘s elbow, she rubs soft circles on her upper arm that sends delicious waves of arousal throughout Cordelia’s body.

Inside the hotel room, shut off from other guests and people undeserving of even looking at Misty, Cordelia waits. She waits for Misty to carelessly drop her scarf and bag on the chair probably worth more than her car, waits for Misty to hook her thumbs in her skirt and push it down, waits for her to come stalking back over and press her against the wall.

“Do you want this, Cordelia?” In the dim, muted rays of moonlight coming from the crack of the curtains, Misty seems swathed in the pale light, radiating the curves of her form like an angelic being. It’s unfathomably difficult to form a rational thought, especially when Misty uses Cordelia’s pause to guide her hands under the fabric of her shirt. She drops her own hands and stops, needs Cordelia to take this next step.

Taking a fistful of the blouse in each hand to tug it up and over her head, Misty gets her confirmation.

“Take me to bed, please,” Cordelia says simply, and the piercing gaze she gets in return is enough to flood her psyche with what exactly this night will lead to. Images of Misty on top of her, dripping wet and moaning, images of Misty between her legs, murmuring sweet words of praise, images of Misty straddling her face and -

She’s pressed gently atop the pristine comforter, soothed that Misty isn’t making this seem frenzied and rushed; is taking her time like she means it. And maybe she does want it, if the way she stares at Cordelia any indication.

Cordelia wants to see all of Misty, wants to make her beg and moan and _ache_ for it. She starts slow, allowing Misty to take her face between palms and consider a second before leaning forward and kissing her. It’s quick, no tongue, leaves Cordelia wanting so much more. Misty tastes like bourbon, her skin soft and pliant underneath Cordelia’s fingertips where they dig in her waist.

“Misty,” she sighs, “will you please kiss me like you mean it?”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” she replies quietly, a look of nervousness ghosting across her otherwise immaculate features. Her thumbs are rubbing in no discernible pattern over the dip in Cordelia’s hip bone, making them jump slightly. It’s at this exact moment that Cordelia realizes Misty wants this badly, that it’s no longer a cut and dry business exchange. This is Misty in her entirety, asking for something Cordelia is more than willing to provide.

Cordelia lulls her head to the side, requests again, “Kiss me.”

This time, Misty allows herself to press fully into her embrace, kisses her like it holds the key to euphoria. It’s messy, wet, insanely arousing. Small spurts of air release from her lungs every time Cordelia clutches at her harder, the rest of the world outside their door demolishing to dust for all she cares.

Soon, but not soon enough, Misty sits herself up clumsily, straddling Cordelia’s thigh. In her lingerie that Cordelia finally gets a good look at, she looks like a goddess, one that’s been plucked off the peak of Mount Olympus and dropped right here in this hotel bed. The white lace covering the cups of her breasts has Cordelia’s heartbeat pounding in her throat, all but leaping when she notices the peaks of her nipples through the flimsy fabric. A similar white lace barrier on her lower half is preventing Cordelia from what she craves most, but Misty is busy grinding down and moaning, her hair falling in a curtain around their heads.

Their teeth knock together with every undulation of Misty’s waist, but she suddenly sits up and halts her movements, wipes her lips with the back of her hand. “You’re not even undressed yet and I’m two seconds away from coming on your leg.”

Breathless laughter escapes from Cordelia’s throat, and she allows Misty to start unbuttoning her pants. “That really wouldn’t bother me.”

Her nerves are gone, replaced with a warmth in the pit of her stomach with how reverently Misty treats her body. She places her pants gently off the side of the bed, moving on to unhook her bodysuit from the back. Left clad in her black push-up bra and matching panties, Misty takes her time in really appreciating what she’s got spread out beneath her.

“Can I have my mouth on you?” Her fingertips dance down the planes of her stomach, making the muscles quiver in response.

Cordelia’s instant groan is as much proof she needs. Misty starts slow, peppering kisses down the column of her throat. At the pulse point there, she nips at it just a little. Just enough to leave a small mark to remind Cordelia of what exactly she’s gotten herself into. She moves down, deftly unhooking her bra before Cordelia has a second to process. At the staggering availability at her bare chest, Misty really takes her time there; draws her mouth over the swell of each breast, kisses the pebbled tip of each nipple. When she puts her tongue there and flicks, Cordelia cries out and sobs, “Please, Misty, _please_ don’t tease.”

Misty takes her words to heart, meanders down until she’s situated between two thighs. Her fingertip traces light circles on the inside of her right leg, resulting in a following moan. Cordelia’s legs press apart even further, much to Misty’s delight. 

“I bet you taste so good, Delia.”

For as speechless as she’s been made in the last fifteen minutes, Cordelia manages to find her words. “Come and find out, then.”

Misty sinfully grins, her tongue darting out to swipe at her bottom lip. If she weren’t so otherwise focused on ridding Cordelia of her underwear, Cordelia would be begging and whining for another kiss. On her back and flushed with desire, Cordelia finally finds herself naked. When Misty doesn’t make a noise or any attempt to do something, she cranes her neck up. “What’s wrong?”

With Cordelia’s panties dangling off her pinky finger, Misty looks up at her in awe. “You’re dripping.”

Cordelia’s head snaps back on the pillow with a loud groan, cut off with a squeak when Misty’s tongue darts out to taste her. The noises she makes are surprising herself, are barely human as she clamps her legs around either side of Misty’s head.

The rush of arousal is decimating, her hips bucking in response for more pressure. Misty snakes two arms under her thighs and presses her down against the comfortable bed; her thumbs brushing the smooth skin there in comfort. She buries her face deeper, inhales the scent as though it brought her to salvation. Through the tentative licks and brushes of lips, Cordelia hears a muffled, “I was right.”

Then Misty’s mouth is on her like she means it, her lips wrapping around her clit and sucking, throwing Cordelia into a whirlpool of arousal. It’s so much, too much to comprehend in the moment; her emotions all over the place. Cordelia grasps the bedsheets on either side, screws her eyes shut, and focuses on not getting a noise complaint from their neighbors. Misty starts using that _fucking_ tongue again and her eyes fly back open in a silent cry. She’s bewildered to feel tears leaking from the corner of her eyelids, full blown gasps stuttering from her chest.

Misty notices her pull back and snatches her hand from where it had gone to slip inside. She scrambles on hind legs and watches with wide eyes as Cordelia envelopes her knees to her chest and begins bawling.

“Did I - shit, Delia, what did I do? I’m sorry.”

“No,” she sobs violently, “it’s not you. It’s me.”

“What do you even mean by that?” Misty is trying to comfort as best as she can, wondering how delicately to handle this. She settles for a careful palm on Cordelia’s ankle. Light, but not pressing. Comforting, but not overwhelming.

“I, I’m broken,” she manages, “I’m too damaged for this.”

“Cordelia, do you really believe that? There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Yes there is, look at me. Crying in bed with someone because I can’t even forget my problems long enough to have a nice time. I ruined everything.” The sheets around her are crumpled and stained with her tears, adding to the misery of the situation.

Maybe it’s some goddamn miracle, or maybe she’s hallucinating, but Misty crawls up the bed and takes Cordelia’s cheeks between her palms. “Listen to me, you didn’t ruin a damn thing. This is normal. I threw you into a situation where you were in over your head, it’s no wonder you’re overwhelmed.”

“But I wanted it,” she hitches a breath and sniffles; an adorable sound that has Misty smiling.

“I know you did, baby, but I’m asking a lot from you. Let’s just relax and order room service, okay?”

“You don’t have to stay here with me, I’m a mess.”

“A very cute one,” Misty says seriously.

Cordelia rolls her reddened eyes and dabs the corner of her nose. “Now you’re just being ridiculous.”

Two hours later, they’re lying in bed with full stomachs and some rerun of Friends on tv.

“When are you free again,” Cordelia blurts out, too quickly to consider ramifications, “I can like, pay your-“

“Tomorrow night,” Misty says confidently, “and you don't need to pay me for it. Think of it as hanging out as friends. I told you, you’re different.”

“Okay,” Cordelia nods, “Will you stay with me, tonight?

Misty eyes her warily for a second, looks like she’s going to say no and walk out that door. Cordelia thinks she may deserve that, but then she’s flipping the covers over and crawling beneath them like she’s belonged here all this time. 

The tips of their noses brush together, and here, face to face, all Cordelia has to do is lean in and press their mouths together. Instead she allows the intense, unwavering eye contact to fill her with a visceral longing to end every night like this with Misty by her side.

She blinks her eyes shut and feels the soft press of Misty’s lips against her forehead, so gently and softly that a tiny sigh of content comes flying out. The last thing she hears before succumbing to the pull of sleep is a quiet, “Goodnight Cordelia.” 

In the middle of the night, Cordelia rises from a deep sleep, her body startled awake due to unfamiliar surroundings. Misty makes this sweet murmur, a dreamy sound that has Cordelia swooning, something that sounds like “- _back t’sleep_.” And, well, Cordelia doesn’t want to deny that with the way Misty’s arm slung around her waist pulls tighter. She closes her eyes, counts to ten, and releases a deep breath at the feeling of being held possessively by someone. It makes her feel cherished. She falls back into a dreamless sleep, comforted only by the woman occupying the space next to her.

When she awakes again much later in the morning, the shy sunlight has her squinting her eyes back shut. Cautiously lifting her head off the pillow, she hopes to be greeted by God’s gift to earth. 

Instead, she finds the space empty as if it had never even been filled and nothing indicating that last night hadn’t been merely a figment of her imagination. 


	2. Don't you remember that you were meant to be my love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'I would have come out of Eden to open the Door for you if I had known you were there'
> 
> Emily Dickinson to Susan Huntington Dickinson, 1880s

Cordelia spends the morning alone in a daze, wondering where exactly she went wrong and feeling sorry for herself. Her mind feels muddled by a fog, heavy and deep as flashes of last evening run through her hippocampus. Embarrassment and sheer vulnerability follow her morning routine like sticky sweet syrup, clinging to her no matter how hard she tries to shake it off. 

_She told me I was different. Different good? Different bad? You cried when she had her mouth on you like a fucking lunatic._

By ten am, she figures it’s time to stop dodging Coco’s incessant texts and dozens of missed calls. She sends a quick text saying, _meet me @ our cafe in 25_.

Coco responds almost immediately. 

10:12am: _thought u were dead 😡 shall I order mimosas?_

10:13am: _Bloody Mary. double._

10:13am: _oh jesus_

Arriving to the cafe at the exact time she proposed, Cordelia is relieved to find Coco had stayed true to her word and has a Bloody Mary waiting for her. She sits in the uncomfortable chair and takes the proffered drink, all but moaning in delight when the alcohol warms up the coldness inside her soul.

“So? Should I even ask?”

“The ‘date’ went fine.”

“That’s not - I wasn’t expecting that.” Coco leans forward and cups her chin, elbows bunching up the white linen table cloth in the space between them. “So it was okay?”

“It was okay until I cried during sex,” Cordelia deadpans.

“Tell me you’ve switched career paths in the last twelve hours and become a shitty comedian.”

At Cordelia’s blank stare, Coco whines, “Tell me you _didn’t_.”

Cordelia shrugs.

“Am I going to have to pull it out of you? What the fuck happened? And start from the beginning, I canceled a client lunch for this.”

“Co, it was amazing, like ‘I’ve known you for lifetimes, we might be soulmates’ type thing. We talked and drank, and then she invited me upstairs and-”

“Wait, she invited you upstairs? You didn’t pay her for it?”

“No, after a certain point I guess we both knew it went beyond the boundaries of what she does with a regular client.” Cordelia winces in memory and takes another drink, carelessly flipping through the sticky, plastic brunch menu.

“Okay, so, how’d that go?”

Cordelia hikes in a breath and allows last night’s events to flood her mind. There were those soft gasps of lust Misty hitched in her ear, the way her hands grappled for security on her shoulders as she rode her leg, the way she could feel how wet Misty was through her underwear -

Coco’s voice interrupted her thought process. “That good, huh?” Her cheeky grin and raised eyebrow have Cordelia seconds away from smacking the look off her face.

“Yes,” she resigns, “it was good, until I started crying.”

“But why did you cry?”

“Because I haven’t had sex with anyone since my piece of shit ex husband and she was treating me so gently I felt loved for the first time in over twelve years.”

Their waitress had chosen the perfect time to approach their table just as Cordelia spilled all of this to Coco. Without missing a beat, she takes both their glasses and promises, “Two more doubles, coming up.”

Coco is unusually speechless, her perfectly manicured blonde hair mussed from where she’d ran her fingers through it in exasperation. She thinks for a moment, processes this, and fixes Cordelia with her best gaze. “Why didn’t you tell me this?”

“Tell you what? That I’ve been feeling worthless?”

“Yes.”

“Because it’s pathetic, Co. I know I’m not, but it’s so overwhelming sometimes I can hardly breathe. And then when I woke up alone this morning it just solidified my beliefs.”

“Wait, you woke up alone?”

“I asked her to stay with me, and she agreed but then there was nothing this morning. No note or anything.”

“You know that people like her don’t, like, how do I put this - stay the night with people they just met.”

“They also don’t tell you personal, intimate details of their life and claim that you’re different than their other clients.”

“Jesus, Cords, you look like you’ve got it bad.”

“And now I’m alone again, so clearly I’m doing fucking amazing for myself.”

“But why did she leave? Next time I see her I swear to God it’s on sight. I can be a little scrappy.” 

Coco is engrossed in this story like her life depends on it, pointer finger rhythmically tapping the rim of her glass. If Cordelia weren’t so upset with the way her life has been going, she would find it in her to thank Coco for being here through thick and thin, no matter how annoying she could be. It adds just the slightest bit of comfort. 

“She probably left because I bawled like a baby and pathetically asked her to spend time with me like a goddamn weirdo.”

“Yes, but,” Coco tries to put this delicately in a way that’ll soothe Cordelia, “from the way you described it, maybe she just got overwhelmed and left in the morning to avoid having to talk about it. She could call.”

“Or maybe I freaked her out so badly that she decided to cut all contact and leave me alone to wallow in my self pity.”

Coco cocks her head to the side. “Have you ever considered therapy?”

  
A week passes, with little answers or further reasoning as to why Misty left her that morning. Cordelia tries not to think of it; tries not to dwell on what could have possibly shifted Misty’s gears so quickly. Her empty house holds no comfort, rather a dismal reminder of how absolutely alone she is.

She’s lying on the couch feeling sorry for herself, a bowl of popcorn to her left and a bottle of red on the coffee table in front of her as she watches her sixth episode of House Hunters. Just as she entertains the thought of becoming a cat lady, her phone rings. Taking a glance at the caller, she takes one more large sip before answering, “Yes?”

“Put on a nice outfit and fix your hair, because I’m on my way over.”

“I’d like to be alone tonight, Co.”

“And I’d like my best friend to stop morphing into a hermit, so we’re going out.”

“No.”

“It’s funny you think you have a choice in the matter.”

  
An hour later with two tequila shots shoved down her throat, Cordelia is begrudgingly crawling in the backseat of an Uber as Coco flirts with their driver. When they pull up to the bar; a winery designed for hipsters and people looking for a more relaxed and upscale vibe, Cordelia steps out and rolls her shoulders back. Maybe this’ll be good, she thinks, a quiet evening where she can sip expensive wine outside the four walls of her dreary home. Maybe she’ll go crazy and even try to enjoy Coco’s company.

The two sit at the bar, knees brushing in close proximity due to the mass of other bar guests. Cordelia sits back and allows to noisiness to wash over her, a welcomed sound after spending the last week alone; save for the Chinese delivery guy who now knows her order by heart.

“See anyone you like?” Coco winks.

“Not a damn soul.”

“Maybe tonight you can have round two with a stranger and cry even harder.”

“Do you know how often I fantasize about wrapping my fingers around your throat?”

“Oh, _baby_ ,” Coco smirks, “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

The wine is good, the atmosphere charming enough. Cordelia almost feels like a real person for the first time in a week. It’s also nice that their bartender seems to pay extra attention to her without seeming overbearing and too friendly. She’s just raised her second glass to her lips when she hears a familiar laugh.

Her body goes numb. Her foot starts tapping incessantly. A violent blush reaches her chest, neck, and cheeks.

Coco stops mid-story about grocery store guy date number three, questioning, “What’s wrong?”

“Did you tell her to come here?” Cordelia accuses this quietly, venom viciously spitting out with every word.

“Who? Cords, what? I didn’t invite anyone.”

“Misty.”

Coco cranes her neck dramatically, searching for the source of Cordelia’s inner-most demons. “Why would she be - oh.”

“What?” Cordelia is forcibly trying to decide between a guttural scream or learning the basics of making yourself invisible.

“She’s with someone, a-”

“A client. I guess I can’t say I’m surprised,” she tries desperately not to sound bitter, but how can she not? Cordelia self-sabotages for the hundredth time this week and looks past Coco. Behind her, on the far opposite end of the bar, is Misty with her back to them. She’s chatting animatedly with a cute twenty-something girl who looks just as invested in the convo as Misty is. They’re leaning into each other’s orbit, hands on thighs and eyes keeping steady contact.

Coco forces Cordelia back in the chair and eyes her warily. “Please don’t cry at the bar, cry when you get home, okay? I’d like to be allowed back here.” She tries to joke around, startled when Cordelia actually does start to tear up. “Okay, babe, in the bathroom, not out here.”

She pushes Cordelia up out of her seat and rushes her towards the back, but unfortunately the only way is past Misty. With her head bowed and tears running freely, she briskly breezes past and hears an incredulous, “Cordelia?” 

As she keeps walking, there’s a faint, “ _Wait, is that her_?” from whoever Misty has been having drinks with.

In the plush bathroom stall, cut off from patrons and other nuisances, Cordelia violently sobs when the door clicks shut. She drops to the floor and pulls her knees to her chest, blubbering, “What is _wrong_ with me?”

Coco is pacing, heels clicking against the cool tile beneath her feet. “She’s really got some fucking nerve showing up like this.”

“It’s her _job_ ,” Cordelia wails, “we can’t stop her from living her life.”

“Of all the fucking places in New Orleans, she picks here? No, I’m going to go rip her a new one.”

“Coco, stop,” they both pause when there’s a soft knock on the bathroom door and a nervous, “Cordelia?”

Before Cordelia can even open her mouth to say anything, Coco swings the stall door open and greets the subject of all Cordelia’s recent dreams. (And nightmares.) 

“Coco St. Pierre Vanderbilt,” she says snidely, offering her hand as if Misty were a peasant, “Did you need something?”

Misty looks bewildered, a deer caught in headlights. She glances down at Cordelia on the floor and lifts her shoulders a smidge, pressing her lips into a thin line. “Can I just - can I talk to you?” She addresses this towards Cordelia, who goes to respond when Coco interrupts her again.

Coco stands tough in front of her, eyeing Misty up like a prey. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

A look of sadness washes over her features, and she seems ready to join Cordelia on the floor and sob with her. “Please, can I just talk to her? I promise to be quick, and then I’ll leave you both alone.”

“No.”

“Coco,” Cordelia says slowly, “let her in.” When her best friend looks back incredulously, she repeats the quiet demand.

“Okay, I’ll go pay, I guess. Come get me if you need me.” With one more final death glare at Misty, Coco leaves the stall with a door slam.

Neither speak for the first few seconds, and Cordelia feels the dread sink into her pores, feels it slowly fill them up like a water pitcher set to overflow any second now. She closes her eyes and wishes desperately to be anywhere but here; her bed, a deserted island, the goddamn moon.

There’s a soft clink of metal from where Misty has nervously interlocked her fingers. Her voice is soft and thick with emotion. “I’ve missed you everyday.”

The buzzing in the back of Cordelia’s mind grows louder, and she has to drown out the noise to make sense of what she just heard. In an effort to make sure she’s understood that correctly, she asks, “What did you just say to me?”

Misty keeps her head down, scoffs the shiny floor with the tip of her shoe. “I said, I missed you.”

“Why would - you left me _alone_. After I cried in front of you.”

“I know that.”

“So why are you here?”

“Because,” Misty says apprehensively, “I wanted to tell you that I quit my job.”

“Misty, why would you do that? What were you thinking?”

“I’m thinking I woke up that morning and realized I really fucking liked you, and that I should probably tie up loose ends before I complicate your life even further.”

“You complicated my life by leaving like that, without a goodbye or even a fucking note.”

“I know.”

“Is that all you have to say?” Cordelia is making fists and gently releasing them, trying to keep her anger at bay. Misty may be here confessing things from the deep recesses of her heart, but it doesn’t change the fact that the past week has been relentlessly cruel to Cordelia.

“May I sit?”

“I don’t care.” (She does.)

Misty sits across, mirroring her position. Her eyes are bright and shiny as she locks gazes with Cordelia. “I’m real sorry I didn’t say anything. I woke up next to you and felt changed, like, like - it suddenly wasn’t easy and fun anymore. You did that, Delia, you changed me.”

“So you decided to ignore me in lieu of saying something?”

“I regretted that every second o’er the last seven days.”

Cordelia suddenly remembers the woman she’s here with, another flare of anger pulsing through her. “But you can still see other women while trying to get over me?”

Misty’s eyes crinkle slightly, her mind trying to piece together Cordelia’s thought process. “No, Cordelia, I never wanted to get over you. That’s the furthest thing from my mind. That girl I’m with, Mallory, she’s my friend. She’s been trying to convince me to contact you. Clearly you don’t want that, though, so I’ll leave. I just had to get that out.”

She stands to gather herself and walk through the door, but Cordelia halts her with a guttural screech that sounds a lot like, _wait_.

Misty watches patiently as Cordelia processes this, her jaw clenched and shoulders locked up in defense. 

“You’re just going to leave?”

“You don’t want me here, Cordelia. It’s okay. I’ll survive.”

“But I do want you here,” she cries, “I want you.”

Misty drops the hem of her sleeve where she’d been mindlessly pulling at the thread. She looks weary, like this week has taken a lot out of her, same as it’s done for Cordelia. “Don’t lie to me, please,” she pleads, crystal blue eyes filling with the weight of a thousand tears.

“You’re all I think about,” Cordelia says softly, then, “Please don’t leave me again. I think I need you.” 

This confession comes from a place deep within her soul, a place long locked with a key that had been thrown away. Cordelia may be angry, and she may be on the brink of an emotional breakdown, but more than that she is hopelessly and utterly devoted to the woman three feet in front of her. She has lost herself a thousand times over, but she remembers Misty. She’ll _always_ remember Misty. It’s scary, but Cordelia has come to find the things she deserves most in life are meant to scare her.

The conviction in her voice has Misty dropping to her knees as though worshipping at the altar of a God. Cordelia looks at her plainly, silently whispering echoes of apologies and welcoming her home. Misty understands where she’s coming from, knows the last week has been easy on neither of them. 

With her forehead resting on Misty’s shoulder, Cordelia inhales and allows her unique scent to cloud her senses, deeply rooting her to this earth. Then Misty’s mouth is on hers, murmuring soft apologies and sweet, sweet words of longing as they clash together over and over.

Breaking apart just enough, Cordelia stands abruptly; offers her hand, and tells a startled Misty to take her home.

_*_   
_Our love is six feet under_   
_I can't help but wonder_   
_If our grave was watered by the rain_   
_Would roses bloom?_   
_*_

It’s dark in her room, when they finally make it inside. Dark and silent. With the way Misty’s fingers traced along her inner thigh on the ride over, Cordelia thinks maybe the house will be filled with noise soon enough.

She takes Misty’s hand and guides her to the bed, presses her down the way Misty had pressed her down that night over a week ago. It’s erotic and deeply moving, the way Misty looks right at home here atop the sheets she’d neglected to make this morning in a fit of sadness. 

Misty kisses her, then, like there is destruction on her lips and Cordelia is the one she wants to destroy. It’s bruising and rash, their lips sliding together like it’s been years and not a week since they’d last met. Misty is gasping for air, her hands touching everywhere they can grasp; the small of Cordelia’s back, her ribcage heaving with effort, the back of her neck to pull her in closer. It’s sending shivers up and down the ridges of Cordelia’s spine, a feeling she’d begun to believe lost in the tragedy of time. Misty awakens this in her, a brand new set of handcrafted feelings meant to be shared between them and them only.

With the only source of light coming from the last bits of shy sunset, Cordelia manages to sit herself up and clumsily rid Misty of her dress. Her lithe fingers trace the nape of her neck where the hook is, trying desperately to do this blindly. There’s too many necklaces and rings to even bother trying to remove them all, but the cool silver against her blazing hot skin feels blissful, and Cordelia knows it’ll feel even better pressed inside her. Her lips are plush against Misty’s throat, pressing open mouthed kisses down the length, biting down when it makes her mewl. Misty’s hips rock up at the sensation, causing Cordelia to jolt back down for friction.

Her dress finally comes off; tossed unceremoniously to the floor, quickly joined by Cordelia’s pants and blouse.

“That’s not fair,” Misty laughs, “I wanted to take those off.”

“Next time,” Cordelia promises as she crawls back in her lap, and Misty knows she means that.

Misty’s fingers press to the inside of her thigh, the touch quickly gone as that hand sneaks under the flimsy fabric of her panties. As it fits comfortably in the space between her legs, Cordelia sighs and arcs forward, needy and breathless. Misty strokes her there, palm flat against Cordelia’s clit. She doesn’t want to tease, not tonight, because Cordelia is making these tiny yearning sounds and she’s so _wet_.

Her fingers slip inside with little resistance, causing them each to gasp out loud in the otherwise quiet room. Cordelia squirms a little, forces her hips down in an effort for Misty to keep moving. Her two fingers move achingly slow, pushing all the way in before teasingly slipping out and beginning a smooth, relentless pace. Misty nips at her chest, lathes her tongue over the constellation of freckles, the tips of her nipples through the mesh fabric.

“ _Christ_ , Mist-” her words are cut off with an offbeat thrust. Cordelia whines; rides her hand faster, chasing that high just out of reach.

Misty shushes her, pulling all the way out and flipping Cordelia on her back before she even has time to think. When she blinks her eyes back open; Misty is hovering atop, fingers traipsing back down between her legs. She wants so badly to follow the trail with her teeth and tongue, but Cordelia is asking so nicely for a kiss that Misty couldn’t tear her head away. This time, her pace is deliberate as she slides in and out, fucks Cordelia like the world is ending.

The air is being sucked from her lungs, making it hard to catch her breath. Misty’s fingers hit that spot that has Cordelia seeing stars and her thumb is making these _fucking_ circles, and it’s so much that she can’t help but cry out and come while a mind-numbing wave of pleasure crashes into her. With Misty’s name on her lips like sugar, her body hums and ascends to heavenly places.

Misty kisses the heated skin of Cordelia’s throat, splaying a palm across her rising chest to ease her down slowly. Cordelia takes that hand and pecks a kiss on each digit, pausing at the two that were inside her and sucking them between her lips.

“Good?” Misty asks, amused.

“What fucking level of Hell did they send you from to come and ruin my life like that?” Cordelia jokes, her knuckles brushing the sharp curve of Misty’s chin. She lifts her head up, needy for a proper kiss.

When Misty humors her, Cordelia surprises them both in a display of strength as she flips Misty on her back. 

With no preamble, Misty strips her lower half free of restriction. 

Cordelia’s mouth goes dry, and she has little capability to do anything but joke, “That’s not fair, I wanted to take those off.”

Misty smirk is both smug and obscenely pornographic as she mocks, “Next time.”

With her legs spread to either side, Cordelia whispers a dazed _Jesus_ that has Misty squirming for relief. 

“Please don’t tease, not tonight,” she requests, and Cordelia cannot fathom a universe in which she would ever deny Misty a single damn thing. And _not tonight_ means there’s always tomorrow, she thinks gleefully. She drops down on her stomach, pressing her face in the warm skin of her inner thigh, kisses up the length until she’s met with slick folds that make her mouth water.

Misty’s hands grip a fistful of hair tightly at the first tentative lick, releasing it with a moan that launches from her chest cavity. Cordelia snakes her arms under each thigh to hold her down, fingers leaving marks in the flesh as her mouth wraps around Misty’s clit. She goes slow, alternates between sucking and licking, moving in tune with the undulation of Misty’s hips.

Her hips are grinding and she’s moaning, filling the stale bedroom air with a symphony of noises that would have any neighbors knocking if they were around. Cordelia places a hand on her stomach, feeling the clench of muscles there trying to delay the end result she wants so badly. Releasing her clit in favor of licking a slick line up the length of Misty, Cordelia demands roughly, “ _Let go_.”

Misty comes with a grunt of approval and a string of syllables meant to sound like Cordelia’s name, and Cordelia does not want to stop there; would rather be pulled forcibly from between Misty’s legs. Just as she entertains the idea of Misty straddling her face, her bed mate shakes her head slowly and murmurs, “Come here.”

Crawling up to mirror Misty, Cordelia kisses her fully, wholeheartedly like her life depends on it. Resting their foreheads together, she sighs in content as their legs effortlessly intertwine. “I’m glad I found my way back to you.”

“Me too, baby. I’m sorry I made you feel alone.”

“Don’t let it happen again,” she smiles wistfully, knowing with deep certainty that it won’t.

Cordelia thinks her life has forever been changed, like Misty is some catastrophic event that has scorched the earth she walks on. It’s dizzying and magnificent, as if Misty will be the death of her. Maybe she’ll allow that, if it means Misty will be the last thing she looks at before succumbing to a blissful end. Cordelia murmurs this as coherently as she can make it, tells Misty that she doesn’t want to ever live without her again, and Misty seems to understand. She realizes this fully, partially because it’s the exact same for her and partially because Cordelia has never been so emotionally raw in all her years. Together they share the same ideas, the same hopes and dreams for a future in which they are together. It’s sealed with a kiss, the kind of kiss that people spend their lives dreaming for. What a treat, that Cordelia doesn’t need to close her eyes and imagine it anymore. 

For the first time in over twelve years, Cordelia falls asleep feeling truly comforted, secure, and warm. And in the morning, when Misty is still there to whisper a dreamy, sleepy good morning amidst the morning dove songs, it feels as though all is right in the world.

  
And roughly five years later, Misty got exactly what she wanted. 

A wife and two fluffy animals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> coco said fuck misty lives
> 
> :))))))) thanks for sticking with me
> 
> u know where to find me


End file.
